


A Journey in the Dark

by Brianna Aisling (casual_distance)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2086479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casual_distance/pseuds/Brianna%20Aisling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She just wants something familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Journey in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers/Continuity: Set in the future, sometime after a major battle, but not after **the** battle. No specific spoilers.  
>  Originally Posted on LJ: May 14th, 2005

This would be the trick then: being unseen. Passing through the halls, movement silent, no cloak to hide her the way it hides Harry. Her wand at ready; body tensed. She can taste the fear in the air. Sleep doesn't stop it—nightmares rule the dark.

This is a gift. The same familiar darkness, a path through hallways walked before. Three steps past the turn and a hole where a stone was pried up. She knows this way as she knows Ron. As she knows Harry. She'll slip through wards that are harder but familiar with the taint of the caster and into an office that will always smell the same. It’s always the same; he is. He knows it’s them. Always, but since that day, since that night...

The darkness flares red— she stops. Eyes closed, she stands. Waits. It passes, and she moves again not thinking. Not thinking about Harry and the way he screams. Not thinking about Ron and the harsh sound of pained pants. She doesn't think, only moves. She'll always only move in the dark.

The wards are light, simple. It should have warned her (should have, should have), but it didn't (why do they always not...). He's at his desk, dark head bent, dark robes pooling. She stops, stands, waits. He won't look up. He's as tense as she is, but he won't—

She moves again.

Fingers sliding over jars, eyes scan labels. He's so damn meticulous. She finds it where she expects it, where she needs it. She contemplates taking the whole jar— he's sitting right there— but familiarity wins out: she takes only what they need.

The last thing she hears before sliding into darkness is his voice, dark, heavy, tired (thankful), "Detention tomorrow, Miss Granger."


End file.
